


Outsider

by TsarinaTorment



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Broken Bones, Gen, Hurt Scott, Post-Canon, Rockfall, Scott!Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: He’s not a member of International Rescue, but when someone ends up in trouble, he can’t walk away.
Relationships: The Mechanic & Scott Tracy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A peculiar thing whereby I got a particular idea in my head and then reverse-engineered a scenario in which it might be vaguely plausible, because Scott&Mechanic interests me so I’m gonna play with it a bit. This is ostenably a two-part fic, and the second part is mostly written so should be up in the next day or two, with any luck...

The man still didn't really trust him. The Mechanic knew that, even without sharp blue eyes watching his every move with something that looked a lot like suspicion. He was _tolerated_ , an understanding that he hadn't wanted to do what he had under the Hood's control, but that was as far as the civility extended.

The Mechanic understood that. He wouldn't trust himself, either. _Didn't_. In a way, it was a relief that one of the Tracys hadn't followed the rest of his family as leaving it in the past, water under the bridge. It validated his own emotions, assured him that he wasn't over-reacting.

Assured him that it hadn't just been a product of his own imagination. That it had actually _happened_.

"I don't need your help," Scott Tracy told him. It was a lie they both wished was true. If it was true, they wouldn't be _here_.

The eldest Tracy brother had sprained his wrist on a rescue two days ago. Nothing serious, but enough to leave him grounded until he could fly a plane again. Predictably, he hadn't taken well to the idea; the Mechanic knew enough about him to know he hated being inactive. Having his brothers out on rescue, and even his father away on the mainland for business, while he was forced to remain behind and recuperate made for a volatile Tracy.

The Mechanic had gone out of his way to avoid the man, an endeavour that had managed to remain entirely successful until outside forces interfered.

In this case, 'outside forces' translated to 'Mrs Tracy'.

A sprained wrist hadn't stopped Scott from pounding out his frustrations through a run across the island, something the Mechanic hadn't known he'd gone to do until the family matriarch entered his lab.

"You need fresh air," she'd told him bluntly. "Staying cooped up in here all day isn't good for your health."

There was no arguing with the diminutive woman, even when she continued to tell him that her eldest grandson had gone out for a run two hours earlier and wasn't back yet - nor was he answering her calls.

"Why don't you go and see what's taking him so long?" It hadn't been a suggestion. He'd been packed off with a first aid kit – _just in case_ – and reluctantly found himself following a largely unfamiliar path around the island until he'd found her grandson.

There were signs of a recent rockfall, and the younger man was a little way off the path, sitting on the ground. From the unnatural angle of his left leg, it wasn't an optional rest he was taking, and the recent rockfall had been very recent. _Coinciding with Scott Tracy's run_ recent.

He'd looked relieved to be found for all of half a second, before recognition hit.

"Your grandmother sent me," had been enough to stall any outright dismissals or otherwise defensive snarls, but still wasn't enough to return relief to his eyes. It was obvious Scott would have rather been found by literally anyone else on the island.

The Mechanic didn't want to be there, either, but living with International Rescue was contagious. When combined with his need to make up for what he'd done, both to this family and the world, no matter what the younger man thought, he couldn't leave him there.

"What are you _doing_?" Scott demanded as he crouched down next to him. "Don't touch me."

"I might not be trained to the same standard as International Rescue," he said, ignoring the protests and rummaging through the first aid kit, "but workshops are dangerous and I've got more than enough training to treat a broken leg."

He could see there was a retort on the tip of Scott's tongue, but the other man swallowed it down, clearly remembering that they were at least attempting to remain cordial to each other, even if trust wasn't on the table.

The fact that, whether they liked it or not, he was very much at the Mechanic's mercy no doubt had something to do with it, too.

It wasn't a bad break, and Scott suffered through the splinting process in silence, or so he obviously wanted to appear. The Mechanic dutifully ignored the muffled groans and occasional whimper that escaped through grit teeth.

The complication came when it was time to get him back to the house. There was no stretcher in the first aid kit, which meant he either had to leave the man to retrieve one, or wait until one of the Thunderbirds returned so Scott's brothers could take over. Scott, unsurprisingly, was in favour of the option that had his brothers helping him, rather than the Mechanic.

He was in favour of that one, too, but there was a problem that Scott clearly hadn't spotted, and the Mechanic had. It was one that left him reluctant to leave, _or_ wait for backup.

Not all of the fallen rocks were stable. There was a large one that almost necessitated the label _boulder_ instead perched a little way above them, and the Mechanic wasn't entirely certain how long it would stay put. What he _was_ certain of was that if and when it fell, Scott was directly in its path and would be unlikely to escape serious injury.

"I'll be fine," Scott insisted. It was another lie and this one he couldn't let slip past unacknowledged.

"I cannot leave you here," he said firmly. "Your grandmother would have both our heads."

Scott's unhappy and stubborn response was overlapped by a faint roar, and the Mechanic looked up to see the red of Thunderbird Three streaking down towards them.

Despite everything had had happened since the original Zero-X, there was one thing the Mechanic knew, and that was that he was _good_ at what he did: calculations, variables, everything that went into the core of being an engineer. The boulder was perched precariously at best. Thunderbird Three was so powerful she always shook the island.

The vibrations caused by Thunderbird Three's engines were going to dislodge the boulder. Imminently.

Scott had to be moved _now_.

"Hey!"

Scott was not a small man, but nor was the Mechanic. With vibrations echoing in his ears, a promise of _danger_ that couldn't be ignored, he slipped one arm around Scott's back while the other snaked under his thighs, and with the flexing of muscles built from years of lugging around heavy machinery, he surged to his feet and staggered backwards just as the boulder tipped.

Any additional complaints from the younger man were cut off as the Mechanic scrambled out of its path, the large rock missing them by scant inches as it thundered down, exactly where Scott had been sat moments earlier.

The first aid kit, left on the ground as the Mechanic prioritised getting Scott out of the way, was smashed. His chest rose and fell, heaving from the sudden adrenaline, and in his arms, Scott's breathing was equally shaky.

Thunderbird Three, entirely oblivious to the near-disaster she'd almost caused, continued her descent into her silo.

"You can put me down now." There was a deliberate evenness to Scott's voice, and the Mechanic looked down at him. His face was white, most likely from the pain of the sudden movement, and he was staring at the crushed first aid kit.

The Mechanic looked around, accessing the situation. It was unlikely any other boulders were going to cascade down, but after the near-miss he was reluctant to leave the younger man vulnerable. Despite their strained relationship, he still held a decent level of respect for the commander of International Rescue, not to mention a very _healthy_ level of respect for Mrs Tracy. He could not, in good conscience, leave him there.

Scott wasn't light by any means; his height alone saw to that, let alone the fact that he was pure lithe _muscle_ , but the Mechanic had carried much heavier equipment without breaking a sweat. It would be no challenge to carry him back to the house. His leg was splinted, and as long as he was careful, had no reason to be jostled.

Carrying Scott would be just like carrying heavy but fragile equipment.

"This way is faster," he replied, carefully picking his way back to the path.

"What?" Scott shifted slightly, before obviously realising that if he forced him to drop him only one of them would come off badly and stilling. "No! Put me _down_ , Mechanic!"

"The sooner we get back, the sooner your grandmother can look at your leg," he pointed out. The mention of Mrs Tracy was like a magic spell; Scott's resistance melted away.

Well, most of it did. He was still tense in the Mechanic's arms, and he doubted pain was the sole contributor.

Their journey passed in silence, Scott clearly uninterested in conversation and doing his best to ignore who was carrying him. It didn't bother the Mechanic either; he'd always been bad at small talk. If Scott wanted to pretend it was his brother carrying him home, that was fine by him.

The villa came into view, white and artificial against the natural craggy backdrop of the island, and Scott shifted again. Instinctively, the Mechanic adjusted his grip, determined not to drop his cargo – precious cargo, despite their personal relationship. There was a reluctant sigh from the man in his arms.

"Thanks." It was said quietly, and when the Mechanic looked down, startled, Scott was steadfastly staring straight at the villa. "You saved me."

While it was true, those were words he'd never expected to hear, and certainly not from the Tracy that still refused to trust him.

"You're a good man," he replied, if only to stop the words hanging awkwardly in the silence. "The world needs you."

He didn't know Scott well enough to translate the huff of air that erupted from his mouth, but that didn't matter because they were back, and clearly someone had spotted them because Alan was running out to meet them, hoverstretcher in tow.

The Mechanic was more than willing to set Scott down on it, passing the responsibility of care to the teenager as the young astronaut effortlessly began fussing over his brother, dragging the hoverstretcher back inside.

He stayed outside, content to stay out of the way now his role was done. He wasn't one of them, wasn't a Tracy _or_ International Rescue and had no reason to be involved now there were other, better-suited, people around to ensure Scott was safe and would heal.

Still, as he looked at his hands – hands stained with blood that would never wash away, hands that had just _saved_ a man – he felt that something had shifted, just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'particular idea' I got in my head was "the Mechanic carrying Scott". Needless to say, it took a lot of poking and prodding to get that to actually happen!


	2. Chapter 2

The Mechanic didn't come to see him. Scott wasn't sure why he'd thought he might; the man never stepped foot in the infirmary unless he was the injured party. Maybe it was because the older man had been the one to save him, so it was natural to consider that he'd want to check up on his progress. Scott certainly would have done, if their roles had been reversed.

But then, the Mechanic wasn't one of them. Wasn't International Rescue, didn't jump in to save people because they needed it. He'd only been looking for Scott because Grandma's hip was playing up again and everyone else had been on rescues so she'd had no-one else to send. It hadn't been his decision.

Virgil and Gordon were still out, a big rescue that needed more than two pairs of hands, but his stupid wrist had short-staffed them enough that with Alan and John already attending a space rescue, they only had two to spare. Dad and Brains had been gone a week, Kayo with them as security, and weren't due back for another three days.

Now that Alan was back, and his services were no longer required in the infirmary, Grandma had dragged him off somewhere, likely to get cleaned up after his rescue and subsequently suffer in the kitchen, leaving Scott alone in the infirmary with a broken leg, a haze of painkillers, and the knowledge that his grounded period had just been extended dramatically.

And his thoughts. The way the rocks had tumbled down, knocking him off the path and cracking into his leg with enough force to snap it like a twig. He was lucky he hadn't been hit by more. His comm had been damaged, leaving him forced to sit and wait for someone to come looking for him.

He'd thought that someone would be a brother, once one got back from a rescue. He hadn't expected the Mechanic, although in hindsight it made sense. _He_ didn't trust the Mechanic, but Grandma seemed to be well on the way to signing the adoption papers, and the older man at least had the intelligence to know better than to cross his grandmother.

Scott understood why the rest of his family had forgiven the man. At the end of the day, he too was a victim of the Hood, and none of them would blame him for that. Not even Scott. He appreciated, even, that if his activities as an agent of the Hood came up, the Mechanic always phrased it as 'working under'. Never 'under the control of', despite his family's protests. Scott respected the man for not trying to use the mind control as an excuse, but he couldn't shake the unease of what he'd seen in the dam. While it was undoubtably all caused by the Mechanic's desperation for freedom, he'd been dangerous to all of them then, but the Hood hadn't been dictating _those_ actions.

The Mechanic was remorseful for everything he'd done, and was working hard to atone, but it didn't change that he was capable of harsh decisions. Grandma, even _Kayo_ , had been delighted with how he'd fought back against the Chaos Crew when they'd attacked the island, but for Scott it had been another red flag: Brains' lab was under the Mechanic's control.

He wasn't ready to give the man that had almost killed his siblings multiple times, mind controlled or not, his trust.

Dad had, but Dad hadn't _been_ there. Dad knew him as just another of the Hood's victims, and with the rest of the family – barring Scott – offering forgiveness and a fresh start, he'd been content enough to go along with it, although he at least never pressurised Scott to do the same.

And yet, the Mechanic had _saved_ him. He could have left him to get a hoverstretcher, which would have been the _right_ thing to do, or even left him with some water and sent his brothers out once they got back, which admittedly was what Scott had wanted him to do. Instead, he'd stayed because he'd noticed a danger that was out of Scott's range of vision, and _saved_ him.

It had been close. Just as close as any rescue they did. The boulder had barely missed them; if the Mechanic had been any slower, both of them could have been smashed down the slope. The Mechanic had put himself in potential harm's way to save Scott, and _that_ didn't fit with the mental image he'd been constructing of the quiet man who lurked in the bowels of the island and mostly pretended he didn't exist.

Even after that, he could have left Scott there. Could have left him, _as Scott had ordered_ , to fetch Alan and walk away from the situation. But he didn't. He'd carried him all the way back, holding him with a care that betrayed how much strength he had.

Scott had tried to pretend it was Virgil carrying him back, that there was a feeling of _safety_ because his brother was cradling him gently in his arms, but he couldn't deceive himself. Everything was too wrong. It was tiny details like the scent – wrong aftershave, too much oil – and the barely-there hum of mechanical implants. The fact that Virgil would be talking, trying to distract him while also scolding him for being careless and scaring him. Bare arms, muscles bulging, but gloved hands. Virgil never had bare arms, and the flannel served to soften his brother's muscles.

No matter how hard he'd tried to pretend he was safe in his brother's arms, it was all too obvious that it wasn't Virgil.

Which made the fact that he'd felt _safe_ all the worse. It was a different sort of safe, less the emotional relief he got from Virgil and more a realistic, material one. The Mechanic was strong. Intimidatingly so – stronger than Scott, and Scott couldn't confidently say the same wasn't true even for Virgil. His grip was firm but also gentle, steady enough that his splinted broken leg didn't jostle. There was no fear of his grip failing, of being accidentally dropped and injured further.

It wasn't trust. Scott still didn't _trust_ the Mechanic. It was a simple fact. As long as the Mechanic intended on carrying him, he wouldn't be dropped.

Then they'd got home, Scott still secure in a hold that hadn't wavered once, leaving him with no choice but to thank the man, because he didn't trust him but manners had been drilled into him from a young age and the Mechanic _had_ saved him, _had_ got him home safely despite having no obligation to do so.

And now the man had disappeared, presumably back into the bowels of the island with the machinery he seemed to prefer over human contact, leaving Scott with questions he couldn't answer, and no way of _getting_ answers.

Why did the Mechanic treat him instead of leaving him to get someone else? Why did the Mechanic _save_ him? Why did he carry him home?

It just didn't make _sense_.

Unable to leave the bed until Virgil came back and cleared him for the hoverchair, Scott was left with nothing to do except stare at the ceiling and try to work out what had shifted in their dynamic, because clearly _something_ had.

As much as he still distrusted the Mechanic – one act of heroism did not erase the pain he'd once caused, and Scott couldn't just let the past go so easily – he couldn't deny _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a little longer than the ‘day or two’ I promised, but something wasn’t quite sitting right with it and my muses went to play off in other sandboxes (mostly involving Gordon and Scott’s hair, apparently), but here we go. I suppose there is theoretically room to continue exploring what this means for their relationship, but I’m not doing it. At least, not here. Who knows what my muses will come up with in the future?
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari


End file.
